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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149900">Home Is Where I Want To Be (But I Guess I'm Already There)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus'>walkwithursus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All The Tropes, Awkwardness, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:29:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a series of honest mistakes (a letter addressed to them both, a shared room, a single bed), and before they know it the entire village of Tadfield is convinced that Crowley and Aziraphale are not only deeply in love, but engaged to be married. What they are going to do about it remains to be seen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I guess I must be having fun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Five months after the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale received a letter from Tadfield on his doorstep. It was addressed to both he and Crowley, and within its contents was an invitation to spend a few days over Christmas at Jasmine Cottage. Anathema had purchased the property as a holiday spot for her and her family, and she would be returning to England for the week of Christmas and hoped that Aziraphale and Crowley might be open to joining them for a bit of celebrating. </p><p>Aziraphale had shown the invitation to Crowley, who to Aziraphale’s surprise had agreed almost immediately. Though he shouldn't have been <i>quite</i> so surprised; Crowley had been talking often about getting out of the city as of late, and seemed to think this was the perfect opportunity to enjoy the countryside. Not to mention, the demon had added, it would be a good way to keep an eye on the former antichrist, who was beginning the perilous and foundation shaking journey into puberty and could undoubtedly use a little guidance from his godfathers. </p><p>Aziraphale had reminded him that they were technically Warlock's godfathers, not Adam's, and that neither of them had ever experienced human puberty firsthand before. But Crowley had shrugged him off, and after a long night of liquid persuasion Aziraphale had agreed to go. It would be exciting, quite possibly even fun, he decided, and with that Crowley had taken the liberty of informing Anathema via text message that they would be joining her on the 22nd. </p><p>Now that the date of departure had arrived, it seemed as though their respective enthusiasms had switched places. It was Aziraphale’s turn to ramble on about the food and the gifts and the snow and all manner of other delightful things unique to Christmastime, while Crowley listened in a somewhat subdued manner. Still, Crowley was amenable to going, talking Aziraphale out of the truly ugly festive jumpers he'd been prepared to pack and listening patiently while they loaded the Bentley with their many trunks and cases. </p><p>With everything accounted for, they set out from London for the village of Tadfield in the early afternoon on December 22nd. Once they finally got off the motorway the drive was remarkably scenic. The few other vehicles out on the roads were slow and easily passed, which meant the danger of a collision was far lower than usual. Aziraphale found himself relaxing in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the snow flurries and reminiscing about some of the favorite winters he’d spent throughout antiquity. Crowley chimed in often, as he had been present for most of them. </p><p>It wasn’t long before they were driving through the tiny village of Tadfield. Crowley slowed considerably, though the Christmas lights hanging in the shop windows and the families of snowmen were still a blur as they sped past toward Jasmine Cottage. At one point Aziraphale thought he detected carolers just out of earshot, but they were far gone by the time he thought to ask Crowley if he could hear them too. </p><p>"Do you think we might get any carolers while we're here?" he asked instead, hopeful.</p><p>"I doubt it," Crowley replied, glancing casually in the rear view mirror as he ran a stop sign. </p><p>"No, you're probably right," Aziraphale agreed. Jasmine Cottage was located at the edge of the village, a less than ideal stop for carolers walking in the snow. A thought struck him. "Maybe <i>we</i> could go caroling."</p><p>"Not in another six thousand years, angel," Crowley said firmly, and Aziraphale abandoned the subject for a later date. Perhaps after a few drinks. </p><p>Their arrival at Jasmine cottage was perfectly timed a short while later, and Aziraphale was delighted to find that the little house was just as lovely in the winter as it had been in the heat of summer. The verdant garden was covered in a blanket of snow, while yellow lights twinkled in the icy blue fog like many lighthouses guiding them in. Crowley rolled the Bentley to a stop in front of the garage and killed the ignition as Aziraphale shifted restlessly in his seat. The air inside the vehicle remained warm despite the chill that threatened to seep in from outside. </p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, and they both climbed out of the car. He had just stood to full height when his favorite leather brogues, a bit worn on the bottoms, slipped on the ice underfoot. With inhuman speed Crowley was instantly at his side, a brief, steadying point of contact on Aziraphale’s elbow. </p><p>“Watch your step.” </p><p>“Goodness, yes, thank you. It’s a bit slippery,” Aziraphale chuckled.</p><p>Bracing one hand on the Bentley for support, Aziraphale carefully made his way down the side and around the back of the car. Crowley had already cracked open the boot and begun loading his arms with luggage. </p><p>“Hand me something.”</p><p>Crowley paused briefly to look at the angel before shaking his head. “And watch you fall on your arse? I don’t think so.” </p><p>“I’m not going to fall,” Aziraphale protested, though without much conviction. The drive was practically a minefield from the looks of it, and the soles of his shoes had seen far better days (sometime in the 19th century, to be precise).</p><p>Crowley snorted and bestowed a single lightweight suitcase upon him, the dark leather material of which looked like crocodile skin. With the remaining bags in hand, Crowley slammed the boot and together they approached the front door of the cottage. The little path through the garden was free of snow, though Aziraphale trailed a fraction behind his surefooted companion, carefully watching the ground should he encounter a patch of ice.</p><p>“You need new shoes,” Crowley muttered once Aziraphale had joined him on the doorstep. </p><p>“Hush,” Aziraphale said curtly, and he knocked. </p><p>The large door swung open. A tall, dark haired woman of middling age stood behind it, her red lips spread wide in a dazzling smile. Not recognizing her, Aziraphale shot a quick glance at Crowley, who looked equally as confused. </p><p>“Welcome! Come in, come in!” </p><p>Aziraphale hesitated with his mouth open. He’d encountered several million humans in his time on Earth, and yet he was quite sure he had never seen this one before. Still, he and Crowley certainly seemed expected, and it would be rude to decline...</p><p>As he was trying to navigate the social expectations of the situation according to modern courtesy, Anathema appeared at the woman’s side, and Aziraphale lit up with relief. </p><p>“Hey you two,” she said enthusiastically, pulling the front door open wider for them. “Come on in. It’s freezing out there.”</p><p>With murmured thanks Crowley and Aziraphale obeyed, wiping their feet on the rug before shuffling over the threshold and into the cottage. The air inside was warm and fragrant with the smells of Christmas, fresh pine and spiced drinks and buttery, sugary confections. Crowley managed to close the door behind them, sealing out the cold air as Aziraphale and Anathema exchanged hugs.  </p><p>“I see you’ve met my mother,” Anathema said, indicating the stranger who had opened the door. </p><p>“Carmela,” the woman introduced herself, and Crowley and Aziraphale did the same. She surprised them both with a kiss on either cheek. </p><p>“I can see the resemblance,” Crowley said as Aziraphale materialized a small bouquet from behind his back and held it out to their young hostess - poinsettias, star of bethlehem, and hypericum berries. Anathema gasped. </p><p>“Oh, these are beautiful,” she exclaimed, accepting the bouquet and twirling it around to admire it from all angles. "Thank you so much.”</p><p>“Thank you for hosting us,” Aziraphale replied with gratitude to match. “We were thrilled to receive your invitation.” </p><p>“Of course. I’m so happy to have you.” A gracious host, Anathema looked at the armload of luggage Crowley was struggling with and gestured toward the nearby staircase. “If you want to follow me, I can show you guys up to your room.” </p><p>“Appreciate it,” Crowley grunted, shouldering one of the bags a little higher. </p><p>Carmela took the bouquet from her daughter and headed off to find a vase while Crowley and Aziraphale followed Anathema up to the second level. Her full skirt took up the entire width of the staircase.</p><p><i>Room, </i>Aziraphale reflected, gripping the one suitcase Crowley had given him a little tighter. Only one was implied, though there was a strong possibility that he had simply heard wrong, or rather misunderstood. Crowley didn’t look at all concerned and Aziraphale tried to follow his example, calming the silly uptick of his heartbeat with a thought. </p><p>They reached the top of the landing and hung a left. A white door at the far end of the hall stood ajar, and Anathema gestured for the two of them to approach it first before falling into step behind them. </p><p>Aziraphale stood in the doorway beside Crowley and stared. The room was simple, a large, picturesque window opening up onto a hedge row, a wool rug, a wardrobe, and a floral quilt atop a white wrought iron bed frame. Just the one bed, as he’d half-expected. Beside him, Crowley made no move to set down the luggage. </p><p>“I know it’s a bit small, but I hope it’ll be cozy enough for your stay,” Anathema spoke up from behind them, her tone a tad bit anxious. </p><p>Aziraphale shot a glance toward Crowley, whose gaze was unfathomable behind dark sunglasses. </p><p>“It’s wonderful,” Aziraphale said for lack of anything else to say, and he took a cautious step into the center of the room. Crowley did the same, still not speaking, and after a moment’s hesitation Aziraphale placed the single suitcase he held on the mattress. Crowley copied him, relieving himself of the rest of their burdens beside the wardrobe. </p><p>From the doorway, Anathema beamed. </p><p>“Oh, good, I'm so happy to hear it! So, there are extra linens and things in the wardrobe,” she said, walking over and opening the doors to illustrate. “Pillows, blankets, towels. Um, what else. The bathroom is right next door on your right, and you have it all to yourselves.”</p><p>“Great,” said Crowley, his tone bordering on falsely cheery. Aziraphale's skin prickled with discomfort to hear it.</p><p>Blissfully unaware of her guests' dilemma, Anathema closed the wardrobe and headed for the door. “I’ll just let you two get settled in," she called breezily. "Take as much time as you need, and when you’re ready I’ve got drinks and snacks downstairs.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley made an appreciative hum in his throat.</p><p>With an excited little wave Anathema turned and disappeared. Aziraphale waited until he could hear her footsteps on the stairs before walking over to the bedroom door and closing it. He turned back around slowly to face Crowley, who had not moved from his stance beside the wardrobe.</p><p>“So,” said Crowley, rubbing the side of his neck and very determinedly not looking at Aziraphale. “One room.”</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said, biting his lip. He realized what he was doing and stopped immediately. “Should we…?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Crowley shrugged, his entire body appearing unusually stiff. “We could probably talk to her about it.”</p><p>“We could,” Aziraphale agreed. Although it would be rather rude, he realized, to have accepted the room at first glance and only now ask for a change in accommodations. They should have said something straight away. It was a simple mistake, after all, it wouldn’t have been that hard to point out. But instead Aziraphale had gone and accepted the room for both of them, decrying it ‘wonderful.’ By the look on Crowley’s face, he was obviously thinking the same thing, though perhaps without focusing so much on the blame.</p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath. No, he would rather <i>not</i> trouble their hostess so soon after arrival. Yet he certainly wasn’t willing to sacrifice either of their comfort for the next few days just because he was too polite to speak up. “I mean… Well." Aziraphale gestured around the room. "Does it, er, bother you?”</p><p>“No,” Crowley replied instantly, though there was a slight wobble in his tone. “Does it bother you?”</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said at once. He hadn’t even had to think for one second. Cognizant of how strange that might look, he cleared his throat, and continued. “Not as long as you’re comfortable with it.” </p><p>Crowley nodded slowly. “So, it’s fine then. Right? I mean, it’s not as if we haven’t shared a room before.” </p><p>“Right,” Aziraphale hastened to agree, casting his mind back to the last time that had happened. The mattresses had probably been made of straw. </p><p>“I suppose she’s still getting the place set up,” Crowley continued, waving a hand around the space. “This might be the only room she had available.” </p><p>“Yes. Exactly,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sure she has other guests to worry about. We really oughtn’t make a fuss.” </p><p>“Definitely not,” Crowley agreed. There was an awkward pause.</p><p>“You can have the bed, of course," Aziraphale offered, taking a symbolic step back.</p><p>“Oh, no, angel, you take it.”</p><p>“No, no, I insist. You sleep far more than I do.”</p><p>Crowley said nothing to this, apparently letting the matter drop for the time being, or else accepting Aziraphale's rationale. Wordlessly, they stared around the little guest room, which at that moment felt more stifling than cozy. Neither of them made a move to sit on the bed, which was unfortunately the only piece of furniture in the room. Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s hands flexed restlessly at his sides. </p><p>“Shall we head down?” Crowley suggested at length, his cheeks a bit flushed. Hopefully not with anger, Aziraphale thought, chastising himself again for agreeing to this room on their behalf. “I could use a drink.”</p><p>“Yes. Splendid idea,” Aziraphale said at once, already heading for the door. "I could use one myself."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cover up, say goodnight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: brief mention of Brexit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley and Aziraphale reunited with Anathema at the bottom of the stairs. Realizing he had been almost entirely silent in the guest room, Crowley seized that opportunity to thank her properly for her hospitality.</p>
<p>“I can tell it’s going to be very cozy,” he added, thinking privately that in this context <i>cozy</i> meant <i>close-quarters</i>. Some of the tension eased from Aziraphale’s posture beside him, as if he was relieved to hear Crowley say so. </p>
<p>“Oh, good, I’m so glad,” replied Anathema. “Are you all settled in?”</p>
<p>“Yep. All settled.”</p>
<p>“Great. Let’s go get you guys some drinks.” </p>
<p>“Lead the way,” said Aziraphale, and he and Crowley followed Anathema into the kitchen. One entire counter was taken up with an assortment of food and beverages, while the others were piled high with covered dishes. The wine was from California, a gift from Anathema’s mother, and after an eager nod from Aziraphale Crowley poured them both a glass. </p>
<p>With drinks in hand, Anathema led them out to the sitting room where the majority of the house guests were gathered. </p>
<p>“Everyone, this is Aziraphale and this is Crowley. They’ve just come in from London. Actually, some of you might recognize them, they’re godfathers to one of the boys in the village.”</p>
<p>A chorus of cheerful greetings followed the introduction. One of the women curiously asked, “Which boy?”</p>
<p>“Adam Young,” Crowley answered. </p>
<p>Aziraphale shot Crowley a sharp look. Crowley pretended not to notice. He wasn’t bending the truth, exactly - merely bending reality to more accurately match his version of the truth. </p>
<p>A quick round of introductions took place. Along with Anathema’s family, a few neighbors were in attendance of the little gathering, none of whom appeared familiar to Crowley (though he certainly appeared familiar to a few of them - they just couldn’t quite remember <i>why</i>).</p>
<p>Room was made in the tiny sitting area for them. Crowley gravitated toward the armchair, while Aziraphale took a seat on the freed up cushion of the sofa. Aziraphale immediately dipped into the conversation, chatting animatedly while Crowley listened shrewdly to every word, mentally cataloguing each of the other guests according to their hinted sins and vices. Old habits, and all that.</p>
<p>The conversation inevitably turned to politics without a single helping hand from Crowley. One of the men, a loud, obnoxious local named Devon, coaxed Aziraphale into a passionate conversation about the European Union. Crowley allowed his attention to wander until a particularly loud declaration called him back.</p>
<p>“Personally, I think Brexit is the best thing to happen to our country since Thatcher.” </p>
<p>Oh, Satan, he’d forgotten the xenophobic charm of small villages. Aziraphale had the patience of a saint. Crowley languished in the awkward pause for a few delicious moments before taking pity on the room. With a loud throat clearing, he grasped his empty wine glass and stood up.</p>
<p>“Refill, anyone? Barney?” Crowley asked, looking at the neighbor who had declared a little too boisterously that he simply <i>shouldn’t </i>have another. </p>
<p>“Oh, gosh, don’t<i> tempt </i>me,” the man laughed in a voice that clearly spoke otherwise.  </p>
<p>“Come on, live a little,” Crowley said conspiratorially, and he plucked Barney’s empty out of his hands. From across the room, Crowley saw Aziraphale roll his eyes, and with a coy little grin Crowley sauntered over to him next.</p>
<p>“Anything for you, angel?” he asked sweetly.</p>
<p>“No more for me, thank you,” Aziraphale declined, handing Crowley his empty wine glass. “Although, I wouldn’t say no to a piece of Mrs. Miller’s cobbler. It smells absolutely divine,” he said, directing the compliment toward the smiling woman at his side. </p>
<p>Mrs. Miller’s cries of surprised delight followed Crowley out of the room and into the kitchen. Anathema glanced up at him as he arrived, her arms elbow deep in a sink of soapy water. Crowley stealthily avoided bumping into any of her family members as they bustled around, taking things in and out of ovens and stirring sauces. </p>
<p>“Need a hand?” </p>
<p>Anathema raised an eyebrow. “That bad out there?” </p>
<p>“They’re discussing Brexit,” Crowley confessed, hissing sinisterly over the X. </p>
<p>“Oh, God. <i>Devon.</i> Sorry, I swear his wife is a really nice person.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take your word for it,” Crowley said, splitting the remainder of a bottle of wine between the two glasses he carried. He next loaded a paper plate high with sweets; cobbler and iced biscuits and bunches of purple grapes. “So, is that a ‘no’ to help, then?”</p>
<p>“No. Shoo. Get out of my kitchen,” Anathema said, scooting him out. “Oh, but tell everyone dinner’s almost ready, so people can come start making plates.”</p>
<p>“On it,” Crowley said, and he returned to the sitting room with drinks and plate in hand.</p>
<p>Dinner was a casual affair. With the neighbors over, there were a few too many people to sit comfortably around the dining room table, and so people congregated in different areas to eat in a very American fashion. Crowley ended up sitting in the breakfast nook with Aziraphale, Mrs. Miller, and Anathema’s sister, Ramona, who was currently getting her Bachelor’s degree in early childhood education. Mrs. Miller, a school teacher for forty years, was delighted to share some wisdom, and the conversation flowed comfortably around them.</p>
<p>The neighbors were the first to leave after dinner, at which point the exact size of Anathema’s family became clear. The remaining occupants of Jasmine Cottage besides Aziraphale and himself were Carmela, Carmela’s wife Eliza, and Anathema’s three sisters Ramona, Josephine and Nell. Carmela and Eliza went to sleep soon after the neighbors left, while Crowley, Aziraphale, and the Device sisters remained chatting around the fire.</p>
<p>As the night drew to a close, Crowley’s thoughts continued to drift upward toward the guest room, as they had done throughout most of the evening. Anxiety churned his stomach, tempered by a guilty thrill of anticipation. The way he saw it, there were three possible outcomes to this situation: one, Aziraphale would not stay in the room with him: two, Aziraphale would stay in the room with him but in a separate bed or chair for himself: or three, Aziraphale would stay in the room with Crowley and they would share the single bed together. </p>
<p>The last scenario was by far the most far-fetched, and yet it was the one that occupied Crowley’s thoughts the most. Would the angel bring a book to bed with him, turning pages into the night? Would he offer to read aloud to Crowley? Or would he attempt to sleep, bundled down under a shared blanket with their breath mingling in the dark? Crowley tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Aziraphale lie beside him, his curls crushed against the pillow, his heavy, solid weight pressing down into the mattress, pressing down into <i>Crowley</i>, the warmth and strength of the angel between his thighs… </p>
<p>The little hand on the clock ticked on and on. The glowing coals had begun to darken and go out. Crowley was beginning to wonder if Aziraphale was just as anxious as him to be going upstairs when the angel stood up, yawning and stretching until the tails of his shirt threatened to come untucked. </p>
<p>“Forgive me,” Aziraphale said. “I think it’s a bit past my bedtime.” </p>
<p><i>You don’t have a bedtime,</i> Crowley thought suspiciously as he stood along with Anathema and her sisters. </p>
<p>“Oh wow, I didn’t even realize how late it was getting!” Nell, the youngest, peeked at her phone screen to check the time. “We should definitely head to bed.”</p>
<p>There was a murmur of agreement, and after bidding one another good night Aziraphale and Crowley went their separate way at the top of the stairs, the girls in one direction and the two of them in another. Crowley closed the door of the bedroom behind them, and suddenly, after a night of crowded chatter and strangers, they were alone. </p>
<p>Crowley, Aziraphale and the elephant in the room. </p>
<p>“What a lovely evening,” Aziraphale sighed, diffusing a bit of the tension. </p>
<p>“Yeah, it was,” Crowley agreed mechanically. There was a weird, muffled ringing in his ears, the sort of internal feedback that happened often in oppressive silence. “You aren’t actually tired, are you?”</p>
<p>“No. But I try to be mindful of the fact that humans might be.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “And you were beginning to nod off.”</p>
<p>“Was I?” Crowley could remember closing his eyes at some point, but didn’t think he had actually fallen asleep. </p>
<p>“My dear boy, you look dead on your feet,” Aziraphale affirmed, and with complete nonchalance he crossed the room to the bed, clearing the lone suitcase off the mattress and placing it on the ground beside the others. “Let me just get this out of your way.”</p>
<p>Crowley didn’t <i>feel </i>dead on his feet. A bit drunk, yes, a bit dumbstruck over the whole situation, but not <i>exhausted</i>. “Yeah, well, listen. I’ve been thinking,” Crowley started, joining Aziraphale at the bedside in one long stride. “I know you said earlier that I could have the bed, but I think you should take it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “What? Why?”</p>
<p>“We’re on holiday.” Crowley shrugged. “You deserve to be comfortable.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Yes, but you’d actually use it for its intended purpose.” </p>
<p>“You don’t know that. I might not even be tired.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said firmly, and Crowley felt the door close on that argument. “I simply insist.”</p>
<p>“Well, what about you? I don’t want to put you on the floor,” said Crowley, his heart thumping a little harder in his chest. <i>The bed is big enough for two. </i></p>
<p>“That’s very kind of you, but I’ve already thought of a solution,” Aziraphale said calmly, pointing over Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley turned around to find a plush armchair where there hadn’t been one before. A nearby floor lamp cast a soft yellow glow across its cushion. </p>
<p>“Oh. Well, that’s settled then,” Crowley said, ignoring the swell of disappointment that threatened to engulf him. </p>
<p>It would be better in the long run. Better not to know what he was missing, what being close to Aziraphale might do to him. <i>Don’t rock the boat. </i></p>
<p>Rather than change as usual with a miracle, Crowley opted to take his pyjamas into the bathroom next door. The moment alone afforded him some solace. He sobered up over the sink, ran the tap and splashed a bit of water on his face to clear his head. Before leaving he changed into his pyjamas, burgundy silk that flowed like water against his skin. </p>
<p>When he returned, the angel was settled in his newly materialized armchair with a large book open on his lap. Crowley closed the door behind him and crept quietly to the bed so as not to disturb him, turning down the quilt and sitting criss-cross under it. He felt horribly underdressed; Aziraphale was still buttoned up to the collar, his shoes still on his feet and his glasses on his nose. Perhaps sensing Crowley’s scrutiny, Aziraphale marked his spot in the book with a finger and looked up. </p>
<p>“Is this light going to bother you?” Aziraphale asked courteously. </p>
<p>Crowley shook his head. The lamplight was so low it barely reached him, and even if it did the pyjama set had included an eye mask, which was currently pushed up over his forehead.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to change?” Crowley asked, unable to help himself. </p>
<p>Aziraphale looked surprised. “I wasn’t planning to. Why? Do you think I ought to?”</p>
<p>“If you want. You know, just for appearances. In case someone knocks.” Crowley shrugged. “Did you bring anything else to wear?” If he hadn’t, Aziraphale could certainly squeeze into one of Crowley’s own night things. Or, should they prove too small for his ample figure, he could wear nothing at all...

</p>
<p>“Yes, I did,” Aziraphale announced, dashing the shameful fantasy in Crowley’s head. </p>
<p>With a little wave, Aziraphale’s sensible clothing vanished, and in their place appeared a nightshirt and flannel dressing gown that stopped about mid-calf. Crowley’s eyes were drawn unbidden to the exposed skin and thick, downy hair on the angel’s legs, and lower still to the sliver of ankle that disappeared into fluffy slippers. Aziraphale crossed his legs and Crowley caught a fleeting glimpse of his inner thigh. </p>
<p>With a barely suppressed whimper, Crowley snapped the eye mask down over his face and flopped back against the pillows. </p>
<p>Having Aziraphale change had been a mistake. Five minutes ago, Crowley had resigned himself to the fact that sharing a room with the being he was hopelessly in love with was a bad idea. Now, he was convinced it was quite possibly the <i>worst</i> thing that had ever happened to him in the history of the world. </p>
<p>It was only a few days, he reminded himself sternly, and only for a few hours each night. The time would pass, and soon this would all just be a memory. A weird, painfully erotic memory. </p>
<p>With a sigh, Crowley rolled over and smothered his face in the pillow. Unfortunately he didn’t technically <i>need </i>to breathe, and he remained reluctantly alive</p>
<p>“Good night, angel,” Crowley mumbled, deciding that his best option at this point was to feign sleep - or, better yet, get some <i>real</i> sleep, if he was lucky enough to come by it. </p>
<p>“Good night, Crowley,” came Aziraphale’s response, a soft and gentle thing. “Sleep well.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Make it up as we go along</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Breakfast is awkward.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning Crowley awoke to darkness. </p><p>After a few panicked seconds he yanked the sleeping mask off his head and flung it across the room, breathing hard as the unfamiliar surroundings came into view. Pale morning light streamed in through a window behind him, fluttering a pair of gauze curtains. Jasmine Cottage. He was at Jasmine Cottage, and Aziraphale was currently poking his head in through the door of their bedroom wearing a look of concern. </p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>“Fine,” Crowley breathed, wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “M’fine. Just not used to waking up with an eye mask on. Thought I’d gone blind.”</p><p>“Ah.” </p><p>The door creaked open as Aziraphale entered the room fully. He had already changed out of his dressing gown and into one of the Crowley-Approved Christmas jumpers he’d packed - cream cable knit with grey snowflakes. Crowley’s first thought was that Aziraphale looked like the personification of a hug, warm and soft and comfortable. </p><p>Still not fully awake, then. </p><p>Taking a few seconds to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Crowley took inventory of the rest of the room. The armchair and lamp from the night before were gone, likely having been vanished by Aziraphale earlier that morning. It was the logical thing to do; on the off-chance that one of the other occupants walked by the room and spotted some out of place furniture, it would be hard to explain. Next to be noticed was the mountain of blankets on top of the quilt he’d gone to bed with, overheating him like a microwave oven. Crowley frowned down at them.</p><p>“Where did these come from?” </p><p>“Oh, that was me,” Aziraphale confessed, retrieving the eye mask from the floor and placing it on the window sill beside the bed. “You seemed a bit cold last night. Anathema was kind enough to show us where the extra linens were kept, and I thought they might help warm you up.”</p><p>Crowley frowned in confusion. “I seemed cold?”</p><p>“Yes, you did,” Aziraphale replied, moving toward the foot of the bed. He started to fold the extra blankets and place them back in the wardrobe, all the while avoiding looking directly at Crowley. “Actually, you were shivering.” </p><p><i>Shivering.</i> How humiliating. Aziraphale had likely spent the entire night awake, hardly a meter from Crowley, watching and listening to everything he did. Every murmur, every sigh, every snore and drop of drool would not have gone unnoticed, would in fact have <i>interrupted </i>the angel who was undoubtedly trying to read in peace. Crowley squirmed uncomfortably under the quilt. </p><p>“Is that all?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “I mean, I didn’t do anything else? Talk or move around or anything?”</p><p>There was a beat of silence as Aziraphale finished folding the last blanket, his face turned away from Crowley. “I suppose you were talking at one point.” </p><p>Crowley groaned inside his own head. Of course he had. Six thousand years and he’d never talked in his sleep once, but one night alone with the angel and he was Mr. Chatterbox. “Did I say anything interesting?” he asked warily. </p><p>Aziraphale cleared his throat and closed the wardrobe doors. “Not that I remember.”</p><p>Crowley forced himself to nod and strangled his other questions before they could leave his throat. “Guess a muzzle would have been more appropriate than an eye mask,” he muttered. </p><p>“I hardly think that would have been necessary,” Aziraphale said, evidently unamused. “Anyway, when you’re ready you should join everyone downstairs. Eliza has been teaching me to make a traditional American breakfast.” </p><p>“Really? You, <i>cooking?</i>” Crowley perked up at that. It had been a long time since he’d last eaten anything the angel had made - hundreds, if not thousands of years - and the prospect excited him greatly. </p><p>“In that case I’ll let you get ready,” said Aziraphale, turning promptly to head for the bedroom door. “Don’t dawdle.”</p><p>"Wouldn't dream of it," said Crowley, and as Aziraphale disappeared he launched himself up out of bed and onto his feet.</p><p>_____ </p><p>There wasn’t much left to be done downstairs. With the food finished, Aziraphale helped set the table and prepared another pot of coffee for the Americans, who had gone through two already. Aziraphale was pleased to feel useful; it was pure chance that Jasmine Cottage didn't have one of those newfangled coffee pod machines, and that he actually knew how to work a French Press.</p><p>Crowley arrived at the breakfast table only a few minutes after everyone else had sat down to eat. Good mornings were exchanged as he slid into the seat opposite Aziraphale, and the angel nudged Crowley the cup of tea he’d been keeping warm for him all morning. Crowley gulped it down with a muffled thanks. </p><p>“So, pancakes,” said Crowley, eyeing the spread in front of him. “Which ones did Aziraphale make?”</p><p>All eyes were on the serving platter where the pile of pancakes rested, ranging in color from light golden brown to deepest black. </p><p>“The burned ones,” Aziraphale admitted with a wince. “Though to be fair, I haven’t stepped foot in a kitchen in at least a hundred years.”</p><p>There was a chuckle around the breakfast table. </p><p>“Well, it’s a good thing for you that I like them crispy,” said Crowley, and he used his fork to spear as many of the blackened pancakes onto his plate as he could find. Aziraphale shook his head fondly. </p><p>“Now, that is so sweet,” Eliza enthused in her twangy American accent. Aziraphale had learned earlier that she was from Texas, and that she owned and operated her own catering business. </p><p>“He’s only doing it to humor me,” Aziraphale sighed. </p><p>“That’s not true,” said Crowley, scraping a pat of butter across the top pancake. “You know I’ll eat anything. I don’t have your refined palate.”</p><p>“Well, it’s still sweet,” Eliza said firmly, passing a dish of diced and fried potatoes to Anathema. “Carmela’s the same way. She’ll eat whatever I make, even if it’s terrible.”</p><p>“Nothing you make is ever terrible, <i>mi amor.</i>”</p><p>“See what I mean?” Eliza shared a smile with Aziraphale “The same as with you and your young man. I didn’t get a chance to ask yesterday, but how long have y’all been together?”</p><p>The moment the words left her mouth Crowley choked so violently on his tea that some of it ran out of his nose. Aziraphale shot him a questioning look and froze at the one he received in return. He didn’t need to see behind the dark frames to know that Crowley’s eyes were wide with panic. </p><p>In a split second it dawned on him the reason why.</p><p>Oh. </p><p>
  <i>Oh. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Oh dear. </i>
</p><p>Somehow, in some unfathomable, impossible to predict way, he and Crowley had given off the impression that they were <i>romantically involved. </i>That, or Anathema had mistakenly informed her family that the guests she had invited were a couple. </p><p>No longer trusting himself to hold onto his cutlery, Aziraphale lowered his knife and fork gently to the top of his plate.</p><p>Oh, this was terribly awkward. Humans had certainly jumped to some ridiculous conclusions about Aziraphale in the past, but never had he been mistaken as a part of a couple before, and <i>never</i> with his hereditary enemy. How they could have formulated that impression was beyond him - </p><p>Except, he and Crowley <i>had</i> accepted the invitation as a couple. The letter Anathema had sent had been addressed to Mr. AZ Fell and Mr. Crowley at one address, presumably because she thought they lived together. And upon arrival, she had presented one room for the both of them, because she probably thought they slept <i>together. </i>And they had just spent the entire night alone in that room, presumably sharing the same bed, confirming all of those suspicions beyond the shadow of a doubt! </p><p>Oh, this was becoming quite a mess.</p><p>They couldn’t possibly deny it, of course. Not after having gone along with everything thus far, consciously or not. The whole truth would come tumbling out at that point, about the bed and the room and their separate addresses, and everything would unravel, leading to embarrassment and shame and a ruined Christmas for them all. </p><p>No, it would be simpler for everyone if Crowley and Aziraphale simply went along with it for the duration of their stay. The damage would be contained and the week would not be spoiled by any awkwardness. Of course, that was only <i>if</i> Crowley would agree to the ruse, and of that Aziraphale was less than certain.</p><p>The entire table was waiting for an answer. Aziraphale cleared his throat once, twice, dabbed the corners of his lips with his serviette, attempting to buy himself some time.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his voice trembling with nerves as he looked pleadingly at Crowley. “How long has it been, darling?”</p><p><i>Darling </i>was probably laying it on a bit thick. Crowley’s eyebrows took on a disbelieving tilt, as if to say<i> are we actually doing this? </i>Aziraphale gave him a frantic look and tried to nod with his eyeballs. </p><p>“I don’t… Erm, well,” Crowley snuffled and coughed into his elbow, apparently still struggling to clear the tea out of his nostrils. “Gee, it - it’s hard to remember, exactly.” </p><p>“Time sort of gets away from you when you get to be this old,” Aziraphale clarified helpfully. </p><p>“Speak for yourself,” said Crowley. The swagger, the charm was returning, much to Aziraphale’s relief. Of course Crowley would go along with it, why had he ever doubted? “It’s just been so long, you know, when you think all the way back to the beginning. Sort of feels like forever.”</p><p>“Well, not <i>really </i>forever,” Aziraphale corrected automatically. </p><p>A line appeared between Crowley’s eyebrows. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked behind a stiff, sharp-toothed smile.</p><p>“I mean we haven’t been together <i>all</i> this time.” Oh, but they could argue about anything - even a pretend relationship. </p><p>“What are you talking about? Yes we have.”</p><p>“Well, we've certainly <i>known</i> each other all along, but there were times where we were separated. Work, you know,” Aziraphale added hastily to the humans around them. Their presence called him back to the crux of the issue, and he finished somewhat lamely, “Although I suppose we always found a way back to each other in - in the end.”</p><p>There was a collective awe around the breakfast table. Aziraphale endured it with a tight-lipped smile, wishing all the while that he could sink down into his seat and disappear. </p><p>“That’s how it was for Carmela and I,” said Eliza warmly from the head of the table. “Best friends for years, bridesmaids at each other’s first weddings. Madly in love the whole time, of course. It just took us twenty years to figure it out.”</p><p>Aziraphale ignored the echo of longing that ghosted through him at the comparison. “That’s lovely,” he said, sounding wistful even to his own ears.  </p><p>“How did that happen for you?” Crowley asked, evidently trying to direct the conversation off of himself and Aziraphale. “I mean, friends for twenty years, that must have been a difficult transition.” </p><p>Eliza laughed. “It’s a bit silly, actually. Gay marriage had just been legalized in America, and we were talking about it one night - this was after both our divorces, of course -  and I said to Carmela, ‘Well great! Now we can finally stop wasting our time on men and marry each other.’ And she got real quiet for a minute, and then she said ‘I never thought I'd hear you say that.’ We got married a year later.”</p><p>“I would have married her the next day,” Carmela said, covering Eliza’s hand on the table with her own. “But she wanted a wedding. Can you believe it? <i>Another</i> wedding.”</p><p>Aziraphale glanced down at his own hands and then at Crowley’s, wondering if he ought to do the same. As if to prevent this, Crowley shoveled a heap of burnt pancake into his mouth and chewed like he was angry at it. Aziraphale picked his own silverware back up and appraised his plate. A bit of scrambled egg was halfway to his mouth before the next question struck him like a punch in the face.</p><p>“So, are you two married?” </p><p>The scrap of egg fluttered off his fork. Crowley didn’t answer quickly enough, and so Aziraphale squeaked, “No, no. Not married.”</p><p>“But you are engaged, though,” said Anathema pointing to the gold signet ring on Aziraphale’s finger. </p><p>“Oh, that.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, trading glances of alarm with Crowley. “Erm, yes, that is ah, that is my engagement ring. I have that because we’re - we’re planning a wedding.” </p><p>The words were just tumbling out of his mouth now, every lie another shovelful of dirt in the proverbial grave they were digging. Aziraphale tried to communicate the depth of his apology to Crowley through microscopic eye movements alone. Across the table, Crowley swallowed so thickly his Adam’s apple bobbed. </p><p>“A wedding! Oh, that’s so exciting!” Carmela clapped her hands. </p><p>“Have you set a date yet?” Nell asked.</p><p>“Not yet. We have a few ideas, but nothing - nothing finalized yet.” </p><p>“Well, if you want a nice venue, you'd better start putting your names down now,” Eliza said firmly. “I’m not sure how it is over here, but in America all the best places have a wait list of at least a year.”</p><p>“Have you thought about what time you want to have the reception?”</p><p>“You absolutely <i>have</i> to get a wedding videographer. Photographs just don’t capture the moment the way a video does.” </p><p>“I know the name of a great caterer.” </p><p>Aziraphale stammered through a few polite responses, repeating once again that he and Crowley had not gotten that far along in the planning process. Across the table, Crowley pushed his plate away and grabbed the pot of coffee, pouring a generous cup and knocking it back like a shot.</p><p>At that moment, Josephine appeared in her pyjamas, the last to arrive at the breakfast table. The attention shifted toward her, and further discussion of Aziraphale and Crowley’s engagement was mercifully lost in the shuffle. </p><p>With an exhale of relief, Aziraphale looked down at his plate and found that he no longer had an appetite. He persevered through a few bites for courtesy’s sake before focusing solely on his cup of tea, hoping that the chamomile might soothe the sudden nausea he was experiencing. </p><p>“Do you guys still want to go into town with us today?” Anathema asked sometime later, breaking through the buzz that had become Aziraphale’s conscious thoughts. </p><p>Aziraphale blinked. He’d nearly forgotten. They had made tentative plans the night before to head into the village after breakfast to look at the shops. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at Crowley for confirmation that this was still the plan.</p><p>“Sure,” said Crowley, breezy as anything. “Yeah. Can't wait.” </p><p>Breakfast broke up shortly thereafter. Aziraphale attempted to catch Crowley’s eye as the plates were being cleared, desperate for a moment alone to talk about all that had just transpired, but Crowley slipped off into the kitchen having volunteered to help wash up. </p><p>Unable to stand around waiting, Aziraphale ended up retreating upstairs to put on warmer layers for the trek outside. By the time he returned downstairs everyone else was ready to go, and together they headed out of the cottage and off toward Tadfield.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is dedicated to all you late in life lesbians/wlw out there. I see you and I love you.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated.</p><p>Fic and chapter titles taken from This Must Be The Place - Talking Heads</p></blockquote></div></div>
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